Page 21 of Claimed By the Rebel

“You will do this for me,” he snarls, his nostrils flaring as he shakes with anger. I can hardly breathe, but I try shaking my head no. Viper tightens his grip, making me lightheaded. “Or else I’ll have to find out where you really went last night. I have a feeling you don’t want that.”

“I’ll do it,” I manage to choke out.

Viper drops his hand from my throat and I collapse onto the ground, my hands pressing against the sides of my neck as I cough and suck down air.

“Stop being so dramatic,” he says, clearly annoyed with my need to breathe. “There’s a burgundy sedan out front I rented under a fake name. Here are the keys.” Viper tosses them in my direction, hitting me in the chest. “I’ll send the location to your phone. Don’t fuck this up, Aurora. I may be the Vice President, but I only have so much say around here. If the big guy doesn’t want you around because you won’t contribute…”

Viper shrugs and holds his hands out, palms up, letting me fill in the blanks. If I don’t do this, my secret and shameful affair will be discovered and my brother will make sure I’m silenced. For good.

“Are you deaf?” he shouts, his mood swinging from annoyance to rage at the drop of a hat. “I told you to get your ass in that fucking car and deliver that backpack. Go!”

I scramble to my feet, grabbing the backpack and slinging one strap over my shoulder.

Shit, this thing is heavy. I don’t even want to think about how much cocaine I’m currently carrying through the clubhouse and outside into the front parking lot. If I stop to think about any of this, I’m going to lose my mind and do something stupid like ditch the backpack, drive up north, and just keep going and going until I run out of money and gas. Then again, the last time I ran away, I was betrayed in the worst way possible.

I set the backpack in the front seat, then decide to place it in the back. After looking at it through the window for a moment, I change my mind and put it back in the front, on the floor this time. Does it really matter where the backpack is? If I’m pulled over or jumped, they’ll find it anyway.

Opening the driver’s side door, I climb inside, adjusting the seat so it’s more comfortable. Not that I’ll ever be comfortable doing this, but at least my back won’t be bent at a weird angle.

I set my phone on the dashboard and open up the message from Viper with the location. After plugging the address into my phone, I start up the directions. With trembling fingers, I raise the key to the ignition and turn, starting up the average-looking, bland car. I’m sure that was a purposeful choice.

I’ve walked and driven through Maplewood a hundred thousand times in my life, but never like this. I’m hyper-aware of everything and everyone I see. Are they looking at me? Do they know? Am I driving too fast? Or not fast enough?

I make it through the main part of town and turn onto a gravel road that runs alongside the major highway. I figured the less-traveled roads would have fewer cops. Then again, maybe it's more suspicious if I'm driving alone on a road that usually has no traffic. I don't fucking know, but the decision has been made.

I’m about to make a left turn out of town and follow this old country highway as far as I can before merging onto I-35, but the familiar rumble of motorcycle engines in the distance catches my attention. Are the Serpents following me to make sure I deliver the package? That doesn’t make sense though.

Looking into my rearview mirror, my eyes widen in panic while my heart thuds painfully against my ribcage. It’s not the Serpents. It’s the Rebel Hearts.

I make the left turn, pressing the gas pedal down as far as it will go. Instead of zooming off like I thought I would, the tires spin in place, shooting loose gravel everywhere. The car fishtails across the intersection, the right back tire getting wedged and stuck in the mud on the side of the road.

The car comes to an abrupt halt, throwing my considerable weight against the seatbelt strapped across my chest. I’m sweating, shaking, and barely able to breathe with the fear and adrenaline pumping through my veins.

I'm stuck. Trapped. Even if I ran, they'd catch me. Do they want the drugs for themselves? What would Viper do if I came back empty-handed and told him his supply was stolen?

A loud tap against my window makes me shriek and spin around in my seat. I look up, up, up, seeing a tall man with blue eyes and dark brown hair. He has a Rebel Hearts cut on as well as a Rebel Hearts bandana. The patch on his cut lets me know he’s the president.

I roll down my window before he shoots it out. I know how this works. I’m outnumbered, outgunned, and overpowered in every way. The man bends down and gets a good look at me, his eyes widening in surprise. He looks over his shoulder at the men surrounding him, giving them a questioning look.

“You sure this is the right car? I think we got some bad intel,” the man says.

“My intel is spot on,” another man says. “I don’t give out bad information.”

“What about the backpack?” someone else asks. I didn’t realize they were surrounding my car. Two people are staring at the bag through the passenger side window. I shake my head no, which apparently was the wrong move.

“I knew it,” the biker who gave the intel says, a hint of self-satisfaction in his voice.

I hit the lock button on the doors, but I’m too late. One of the men rips the car door open and grabs the backpack. I shut my eyes and wrap my arms around my stomach, hoping to keep myself from throwing up all over the inside of the car. Then again, maybe that would be just the distraction I need to get away.

“There’s got to be at least ten kilos in here just judging from the weight,” someone says.

More men talk and argue, but their voices are fading into the background as I fold in on myself. My heart is racing right along with my thoughts and I find it difficult to get a full breath while there’s a vice crushing my lungs.

“Miss?” a voice says. I must have heard them wrong. “Uh, ma’am?” the voice says again. “Don’t want you passing out on us. Can you take a few breaths?”

I don’t understand what’s happening.

“Seems like you found yourself in a bad situation,” the first man, the president of the Rebel Hearts says. I nod, managing to look up at him through my window. He doesn’t look like he’s going to hit me or put a bullet in my head, so that’s good. “Look, I can’t just let you go. You’re involved and we need to know how much.”

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